


Bella Notte

by fictorium



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Dinner, F/F, Food as a Metaphor for Love, One Night Stands, Pre-Series, Restaurants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9863951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: (Damn right that's a Lady and the Tramp shoutout)So how exactly does Kara know about that amazing calamari? Cat took her, of course. Set pre-show and therefore slightly AU in order for smut to happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @kara-lesbihonest for a quick 'n' dirty beta

“Miss Grant,” Kara hisses, freezing by the first marble pillar. “I can’t eat here.”

“Of course you can,” Cat corrects, grabbing Kara’s elbow and steering her towards their central table. Even if this doesn’t qualify as a date, Cat Grant gets the prime table everywhere she eats. “Unless you’ve forgotten how to chew.”

“No, no,” Kara lets herself be guided to where the waiters are patiently pulling out their chairs, then nudging them back in. Kara’s gaze darts from detail to detail, as though she’s found herself in the food equivalent of Disneyworld. “I mean, I can’t afford somewhere this fancy. I’ll just have some breadsticks. And a club soda,” she tells the remaining waiter with a disarming smile.

“Don’t listen to her,” Cat waves the man away with their wine order. No need for a sommelier to patronize them. “Did you really think we were going Dutch? I invited you, dinner’s on me.”

“But why?” Kara can’t help but blurt. “Did you invite me?”

“Because it’s depressing to watch you lose your mind over takeout so mediocre that Gordon Ramsay would set it on fire just to have an excuse to stamp it out,” Cat explains, a little more frankly than she meant to. “You enjoy food more than any human being I’ve ever encountered.” There it is. The telltale swallow and averted gaze. 

“Miss Grant, I eat pret-ty well,” Kara starts to explain. “With a very normal, really average human diet.”

“Let me treat you.” Cat rearranges her cutlery for no particular reason. Is the wine being carried all the way from Italy? “You’ve been my assistant for more than a year now, so some would say you’ve earned it.”

“This is actually, um, the anniversary?” Kara ventures. “One year ago today I started working for you.”

“Well, there you go then,” Cat answers, as though it wasn’t circled in her calendar. She just knew Kara would be the kind of sap to keep track. “Now the portions are tiny, so you’re going to have to order one of just about everything...”

Kara’s eyes light up and she starts poring over the menu like it’s the treasure map on the back of the Declaration of Independence, her insecurities vanquished in the face of truly exquisite food.

***

“Ohhhh,” Kara moans as the arancini gives way to its melting center. Cat has been trying to guide a mouthful of risotto past her lips for at least five minutes, but her hand is trembling too much to risk her Stella McCartney blouse. She might just be in trouble here. The thought of Kara _really_ enjoying her food had been an idle fantasy, but now Cat is starting to feel like the Billy Crystal to Kara’s Meg Ryan, only there isn’t one fake thing about these enthusiastic reactions.

“Good?” Cat asks, voice a little husky as she reaches for her wine. She’s not going to make it out of here intact. Her underwear certainly isn’t.

“So good,” Kara confesses. “Nothing can top the bolognese-stuffed calamari so far though. Maybe I should just have ordered three of those.”

Cat nods for the waiter, but Kara stops her. 

“I’m sure I shouldn’t have had this much,” Kara sighs, looking down at her empty plate, the many that came before already cleared.

“Dessert, then,” Cat insists. “I hear they have the best tiramisu on the West Coast.”

Kara’s eyes light up. Cat smirks into her wine.

***

“That was _perfection_ ,” Kara states for the third time as they leave the restaurant. “I don’t know how to thank you Miss Grant.”

“Please, when we’re at dinner you should call me Cat,” she replies, craving that one last intimacy. With very little shame, Cat wants to hear her name from Kara’s lips so she can imagine her saying it later, when Cat is alone beneath her crisp sheets and replaying every blissful second of Kara in near-orgasmic excitement. 

“Thank you, Cat.” Kara’s voice drops lower once they’re on the street, Cat’s car already called. The driver will be pulling up any moment, and Cat doesn’t want the night to end. She’s surprised when Kara links her arm through hers as they stroll the few steps towards the curb. Is it possible she doesn’t want to return to an empty apartment so soon either?

“Did I keep you out too late?” Cat can’t help asking. “You can come in fifteen minutes late tomorrow,” she adds as an afterthought. Can’t start getting lenient in her old age.

“I don’t have busy evenings,” Kara tells her. “CatCo keeps me busy, and I like it that way. It’s not that late though.”

“No?”

“You know what’s funny?” Kara actually giggles. Cat mentally kicks herself once again for falling for this adorable, untouchable girl. Who’s touching Cat’s hand even as their arms remain linked. It’s a little close to temptation.

“What?” Impatient, snappish. A reminder for Kara of who Cat really is.

“If a guy bought me dinner like that, he’d have expectations,” Kara confides. “In fact, most women would too.”

“Kara, I’m your boss and-”

“You don’t expect anything,” Kara interrupts. “But sometimes I wish you did.” 

The wine must have gone straight to her head, but even as Cat thinks it she sees no sign of intoxication; she took care of most of the wine herself.

“You can’t mean that,” Cat counters, but her ego is stroked and there’s no mistaking the way Kara is turning now, angling her body into Cat’s like she’s shelter in a storm. 

“They say _buy a girl dinner first,”_ Kara finishes. “Well, you did. And I think I’m ready to put out.” Of course she can’t say it without biting her bottom lip, without blushing red enough to stop traffic, but Cat’s last scrap of willpower dissolves in that moment. 

“It is our anniversary,” Cat murmurs, and then Kara’s mouth is on hers. The tastes of the evening are lost to a breath mint, but Kara’s lips are impossibly soft and incredibly persistent. She kisses Cat like her very happiness depends on it, and Cat knows her own currently does. Making out on the street like irresponsible teenagers is too risky though, so Cat all but drags Kara to the town car when it finally arrives. 

A mistake, of sorts, because Cat shuffles backwards into the car, allowing Kara to nudge her flat on her back and crawl in on top of her. What the hell, her drivers are paid more than enough to be discreet, and the door closes behind them once they’re all the way in on the backseat. The privacy screen is up as always. 

“Fuck,” Cat whimpers as Kara’s bare thigh presses between her own. The hike of her dress under Kara’s nimble fingers and just how soaked Cat is is very much in evidence as she grinds against Kara’s leg. She’s not going to make it home before she comes, that much is already evident. Kara watches in rapt enjoyment for a long moment, pushing against Cat before kissing her soundly again.

“I want,” Kara murmurs. “Oh God, I want everything. Everything on the menu.”

“Then take it,” Cat keens, tangling her fingers in Kara’s hair and tugging lightly. “Anything you want.”

“I’m going to make you... y’know.” Kara’s bravado falters just a little, but her fingers slip beneath ruined lace with certainty. “As many times as I had dishes. Is that okay?”

Cat hopes she’s kidding, because five appetizers alone might finish her off for good, never mind the mains and that goddamned tiramisu. Instead of answering, she kisses the elegant lines of Kara’s neck and sighs in agreement. 

***

It’s not unheard of for Cat Grant to be spectacular in bed, but she’s never had anyone break the headboard before. Kara is murmuring incoherent apologies for the splintered wood as she scrambles clumsily off Cat’s face, leaving it slick and shining in the soft light of Cat’s bedroom. It turns out the restaurant was very much a pale imitation of the real sights and sounds of Kara Danvers in orgasm. The food didn’t even get close. 

“Rao,” Kara blurts, which must be some other godawful internet slang Cat will have to look up on urbandictionary and pretend she knew all along. They wrestle with the sheets a little, bodies sticking then sliding against one another. Kara settles into position pressed against Cat’s side as she lounges flat on her back. They fit surprisingly well. Cat shivers as Kara’s hand slips between her thighs once more, before drawing those long fingers back to her own mouth, then Cat’s in turn.

Cat tastes herself, mixing with Kara still on her lips and tongue and closes her eyes in something like reverence.

“That’s my favorite taste,” Kara announces, mouth pressing against Cat’s hardened nipple again for a moment before she continues. “Out of everything tonight.”

“Good,” Cat decides, in no mood to pick the argument. “Now settle down. You’ve exhausted me.”

“Fifteen minutes late,” Kara reminds her, before dropping into an effortless sleep. Despite her exhaustion, Cat lies awake for long minutes, listening to her heartbeat regulate itself, and fall into a rhythm with Kara’s. This can’t continue, of course. Public dinners and sleeping over? That’s not her preferred arrangement at all.

Come the morning she’ll reassess. Offer Kara the choice between pretend this never happened and take any promotion you want. But for a few more hours, Cat gets to have the fantasy. As she drifts off to sleep, she’s aware of one tiny, inconsequential fact: she’s falling asleep with a smile on her face. 


End file.
